


you played a part, this is how it starts

by magnetichearts



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Developing Relationship, Exes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, anyways uhhhhhh, as per usual, oh and like maggie said, pretty much checks off all the boxes for me, take a shot now, yeah this is like a highkey sad and then happy fic, zero word count control™️
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: She blinks, doesn’t let her eyes flicker down to his lips, turned up in that exact same smile she remembers from high school.“So, David. What do you say? Friends?”Devi wants to say she stops to think about it, stops to consider the implications of entering into a friendship with her high school boyfriend and the one who got away, (or was she the one who got away?) who she’s not exactly sure she’s over.There are some very clear lines drawn in this situation, lines that she should respect and stay safely behind, lines she should take to heart.But that’s the thing about her and Ben. All they do is cross all the lines.“Friends.”or; devi’s pretty sure you’re supposed to get over your high school boyfriend really easily. except, of course, when said boyfriend is ben gross(title from “a change of heart” by the 1975)
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Comments: 24
Kudos: 155





	you played a part, this is how it starts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldcarnations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldcarnations/gifts).



> hey guys! i've been working on this fic for a really long time now, and i hope you like it! it's been sitting in my drafts and i'm extremely excited to post it, as always. 
> 
> if any of you guys read good fic in this fandom, you've read maggie's work. maggie, you are an incredibly, amazing, lovely writer, but you're an even better person than writer. thank you so much for simping over mediocre white boys with me and making me feel like less of a clown. talking to you, whether it's about the west wing (which i watched while editing this), or asian parents, is always a great time. you never fail to make me laugh, and i can't wait to talk to you even more. i hope you have the happiest of birthdays, because you deserve it. i love you, so so so much, and i consider myself incredibly lucky to call you my friend. happy bday, queen! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
> 
> ok guys, thank you so much! enjoy!!

Devi turns the corner and crashes into a body, stumbling back. 

“Fuck,” she swears, scrambling to pick up the pile of books that had been blocking her line of sight.

Ok, so she’s well aware that walking around in a library with a giant stack of books blocking her vision wasn’t the  _ most _ conducive to being graceful, but you can’t blame her. She’s starting her new job at a hospital in a few days. And plus, it’s not like she’s going to  _ buy _ these textbooks. She’s in the library because she can’t afford that shit. She’s just trying to find a table. 

“Here you go,” the other person says, and suddenly, Devi’s entire world drops out from underneath her. 

Her head shoots up, black hair flying over her face, as she stares at Ben Gross. 

(and suddenly, she is 16, his smile achingly shy as he slips his hand into hers, as she smiles back at him, his touch pure and sugary sweet like only the love between youth can be) 

“Ben?” she gasps. 

He looks up then, from where he’s collecting his own books, and his eyes widen, all the blood draining from his face, mouth dropping open. “Devi?” 

“Oh my god. What—what are you doing here?” 

“In the library?” 

“No, you idiot!” she says, the term falling off her lips far easier than she wants to think about. “Here! In New York! What are you doing here?” 

Because she hasn’t seen Ben since  _ high school, _ since that horribly bittersweet day she’d kissed him before they ended things, since they went to go follow their own paths. Not when she’d gone back to visit her mom, not when she’d graduated college. 

She’s seen him through phone screens and Instagram, heard him through the whispers that fell from Fabiola and Eleanor’s lips, felt him through the hoodie of his she thinks still hangs in her bedroom, but she’s never been confronted with him as much as she is right now. 

It overwhelms her, in the way that everything about Ben does, in the magnetic way he draws her to him. How can he still do that, after seven years apart? 

Devi fights back the ridiculous impulse to throw herself at him, and breathe him in, and stands up, fingers tightening around her textbooks. 

“I—I moved here three months ago,” Ben stammers out. “I got a job here.” 

Devi swallows roughly, her eyes darting over him. He looks  _ so _ good, fuck him. 

His eyes are the only thing about him that hasn’t changed, still that shade of blue she hasn’t been able to find in anyone else, but god, he’s all grown up now. 

Gone is the boy she fell head over heels for, and now she’s looking at the man he became, the corded muscle of his forearms visible as he shoves his hands in his pockets, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, henley exposing the collar of his throat. His shoulders are even broader, and his face is still round, but stubble crosses his cheek, the last vestiges of boyhood long gone. She can’t help the way her gaze drifts down his body, how he’s filled out, grown up. She wants to touch him, wants to look at him and catalogue every single one of his changes, no matter how minute. 

Fuck, why can’t she stop looking at him? 

“Oh,” she manages to say, dragging her gaze up to his eyes. 

(and suddenly, she is back on the cliff at malibu, back at the beginning of everything; she is back on the day everything ended, looking at him again, the pain lacerating her heart)

“What are you going here? I thought you were back in California.” His voice is a bit deeper, a bit rougher, and she tries not to blush when she thinks about how she wants to hear it over and over again. 

“The hospital here has the best program I want to study in,” she whispers. He’s still looking at her, eyes like bluebell flames, and she feels the heat of his gaze like a hot coal, burning and soothing all at the same time. 

“I see,” he says, head nodding jerkily. He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “How—how are you?” 

She doesn’t even know how the  _ fuck _ to justify that. God, she needs to  _ Dear Abby _ this bullshit, or something, because what the hell is the protocol for running into your high school boyfriend in a library in the middle of New York City??

(how are they supposed to act, a million miles—and years—away from the people they were? they can’t go back home, in more ways than one, and this is—it’s painful. she’s tucked ben in the past, not letting herself think about him in daylight, nothing more than an anecdote for people when they ask if she dated anyone in high school, only pulling him out when boyfriends ask about her previous relationships, only dusting him off when she slips up and mentions his name, and people want to know what he was to her. but what  _ was _ he to her?) 

“Good,” is what she says instead. 

He nods, once, as if he expected that. “Right. You’re—good. Same here.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Yeah.” 

A silence falls over them, and Devi glances at the floor, sneaker rubbing at the fraying carpet. “Um,” she says, “thanks. For picking up my books.” 

“No problem. I wasn’t watching where I was going either.” 

Devi knows this would be the perfect time to go running in the other direction—and frankly, she wants to,  _ badly, _ she wants to flee, to run—but more than that, she doesn’t want to let him go. 

Looking at him now, she can hardly fathom how she had the courage to do it once. “So what do you do?” she says, desperate to keep him here. 

“I’m working at a firm,” he says, swallowing. Ben’s eyes flicker down to her books and then back up to her face. “I, uh, just graduated law school.” 

“Oh.” Suddenly, Devi can’t hold back a smile, biting at her lips. Ben’s eyes narrow. 

“What?” 

“It’s just—ironic that you became a lawyer. You  _ hated _ lawyers.” 

“What? No, I didn’t!” he protests, the tenseness on his face melting away. His shoulders drop, from where he’s been almost hunching them for the past few minutes, and he relaxes a bit. The corners of his lips turn up in a half smile, almost there, but not quite. 

“Yes, you did, Ben. Whenever we watched  _ Suits, _ you would spend like, half the episode talking about how dumb it was.” 

He rolls his eyes, leaning over and tapping her textbooks. “I hated how TV portrays lawyers. I can’t count the amount of times you threw popcorn at the TV while we were watching  _ Grey’s Anatomy, _ and yet, you still became a doctor.” 

“You just—you always talked about how you would never succumb to the snake-oil world of law,” she smirks. “Guess you cave easier than I thought, Gross.” 

His eyes dim suddenly then, glancing away from her. She watches the muscles of his jaw clench as he tenses up again, retreating back into himself. She hasn’t seen him do this since three months into their relationship. It’s been years since he did this, years since he closed himself off from her and shut her out. She hates it. 

“Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Devi.” 

(devi feels some deep part of her break—perhaps the part of her that had held onto memories of high school with startling ferocity, and part of her hates ben, for running into her and saying these things, because her memories of high school are no longer gold and filigree, no longer chandeliers, but they are tainted forever, with the memory that they are not—will not ever be—who they were)

“Right,” she breathes. 

Ben sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Devi does  _ not _ let her eyes trace his arm as he does so. She’s already tangled up, and she doesn’t need stupid physical attraction coming in and messing everything up even more. 

“It was nice to see you again, Devi,” he says quietly. “I’m glad things are going good for you. I’ve got to go, ok? I’ll—maybe I’ll see you around.” 

She barely stutters out a breathy, “O—ok,” before he turns his back on her, vanishing behind the stacks. 

Devi does not let herself lean against the bookshelves. She does not collapse, she does not even think about what has happened. 

She walks over to a table, drops her textbooks on them, walks out of the library, and heads home. 

It is only when she is safely in her bedroom that she realizes he did not call her David once, that he did not leave her any way to reach him, and she nearly puts her hand through the wall when she realizes this.

* * *

_ “I didn’t expect you to come to school looking like this, David,” he smirks. His eyes are bright, dancing in the light.  _

_ She rolls her eyes, dropping her bag on the floor as she collapses into her seat. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gross.”  _

_ He leans over, takes her hand in his, thumb stroking her palm. “I’m just trying to save you from being labeled a fashion disaster, that’s all.”  _

_ She rolls her eyes, but links their fingers together. “Whatever would I do without you?”  _

_ “Wear Target clothing for the rest of your life,” he smirks. _

_ “A fair trade, don’t you think?”  _

_ “Aww, you hurt me, David.”  _

_ She leans over, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “There. Kissed it better. Now, stop complaining and help me with this calculus mod.”  _

* * *

Devi swirls her fork around in her spaghetti, barely listening to Eleanor and Fabiola chatter on about something or other. 

“Devi?”

She glances up to see her best friends looking at her with worried looks on their faces. “Are you ok?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m fine, guys.” 

Eleanor rolls her eyes, while Fabiola frowns. “You’re not fine. Come on. Spill. What’s going on with you?” 

“I don’t want to talk about me,” she says. “My life is boring. What about you, El?” Devi smirks. “Still hooking up with Paxton?” 

Eleanor raises an eyebrow. “Firstly, we’re not hooking up. It’s been, like, twice. Secondly, don’t deflect. You can trust us.”

“I’m not deflecting,” she lies. “I’m being serious, nothing interesting is going on with me.” 

Fabiola reaches over, placing her hand over Devi’s. “Devi, I don’t want to be mean, but you’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever seen. And I came out to my robot before anyone else, so I’m not exactly subtle. Come on.” 

Devi bites her lip. “Fine,” she relents. “I ran into Ben.” 

Eleanor jerks back in shock, clearly not expecting that.  _ “Ben?” _

Fabiola wrinkles her nose. “Ben from the corner store?” 

“No, Fab!” Eleanor says, lightly whacking her on the arm. “Ben Gross! From high school.” 

Fabiola’s eyes widen. “Ohhh,” she breathes. “That’s—fun.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Devi shrugs. 

Eleanor snorts. “Yeah, that’s bullshit.” When Devi shoots her an offended look, Eleanor just shrugs, spearing a piece of lettuce on her fork. “I’m calling you out on your bullshit right now, Devi. You and Ben were never “not a big deal.” You guys were practically attached at the hip in high school. This is like, some serious romantic movie shit. You ran into the guy whose heart you broke back in high school.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Devi scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t break Ben’s heart. We mutually decided to end things because we were going to separate colleges and the long distance would have been too hard. We would have just ended up hating each other.” 

Eleanor nods. “No, you’re right. Sorry, let me correct that. You ran into the guy you fell completely in love with in high school, and when you guys broke up, you broke both your hearts.” 

“I didn’t break my own heart, Eleanor.” 

“No, you just haven’t seriously dated anyone since then.” 

Devi narrows her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

Fabiola exchanges a look with Eleanor. “Did you ever think that you might not be over him, Devi?” she pushes gently. 

Devi splutters. “Not—not over Ben? Guys, don’t be ridiculous. It’s been  _ seven years.” _

“Love doesn’t have a statute of limitations, Devi.” 

(it doesn’t? part of her hope it does, because if not—that means she’s been walking around with an empty chest for the past seven years, her heart still held by ben, firmly in his grasp. she’s been waiting for the moment when she would find the one, would fall in love and be as happy as her parents—and perhaps the reason she hasn’t had that yet was because she let it go when she first caught it) 

Devi looks down at her plate. 

Her and Ben—they were butterflies, lucky enough to catch one another for a short amount of time, but they eventually needed to let each other go, to fly away. 

“You’re wrong, Eleanor,” she affirms, ignoring the swirling in her gut that says the exact opposite thing. “You’re wrong.” 

Eleanor just raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. Whatever you need to tell yourself, Devi.” 

* * *

_ “Ben,” she gasps. “Ben, what are you doing?”  _

_ He stops suddenly. “Um,” he says, eyes flickering over her. “Do—do you need me to tell you?”  _

_ She raises a hand and smacks his head, where his weight is on top of her, pressing her into the bed. “I don’t need you to tell me, you fucking idiot. But—are you ready?”  _

_ Ben sighs, dropping his head so his hair brushes against her collarbone. “I mean—are you?”  _

_ Devi swallows roughly. “Ben, can you get off of me for a moment?”  _

_ He scrambles off of her instantly, and she sits up, sitting cross-legged on his bed. She reaches a hand out. “I don’t want to do this if you don’t want to.”  _

_ Ben’s eyes jump from their hands to her eyes. “I mean—I want to wait so you’re ready.” _

_ “I am.”  _

_ He smirks. “I knew you were into this toned body of mine, David.”  _

_ “Get your head out of your ass,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re not getting on the cover of GQ.”  _

_ “Shame. My dad actually knows the editor, you know, and—” _

_ “Ben.” He stops talking. “Do you want to do this?”  _

_ He sputters at her. “Of—of course I do.”  _

_ She reaches a hand out. “You know I love you, right?”  _

_ He smiles. “Yeah, I do.”  _

_ Devi leans forward, kissing him gently. He cups her cheek, and the touch of his fingers against her makes her feel free, like cotton candy strands drifting on the wind. She pulls back, running her thumb over the curve of his jaw. “The standard procedure after your girlfriend tells you that, Gross, is to say it back,” she breathes.  _

_ “Oh, really?” he laughs. He pushes her gently back on the bed. “So, how can I make it up to you?” _

_ “I have a few ideas,” she murmurs.  _

_ And then, his fingers skate up her hips and dig into her side, tickling her, and she bursts out laughing, holding him tighter to her.  _

* * *

Devi picks up her coffee and turns around, dropping her wallet back into her purse. 

“Devi.” 

She looks up, and her mouth goes dry at the sight of Ben, standing there. 

He looks different from when she’d seen him in the library, dressed in a crisp black suit, red tie stark against the white of the shirt, but no less handsome. 

“Ben,” she breathes. “What—” 

He anticipates her question, and his mouth turns up in that same almost half smile. “I live a few blocks away,” he says, jerking his thumb over in the opposite direction of her apartment. 

“I live down that way,” she says softly, pointing. She takes in his appearance, perfectly pressed suit, gold cufflinks—she struggles not to roll her eyes—tie impeccable against his chest. 

He looks everything and nothing like the boy she’d left behind, and it makes her heart hurt. “Why—why are you picking up coffee at six pm?” 

He sighs, running a hand over the curve of his jaw. It’s a nervous habit, she realizes, a nervous habit he hadn’t had back in high school, and it’s just another way in which Ben has become someone she barely knows anymore. 

(once upon a time she would have trusted him with her life, would have known him inside out and upside down, at the ends of the universe and beyond the boundaries of time—and now it feels like she’s standing in front of a rippling mirage—the longer she looks at him the more she can see the boy from high school—but then she blinks and the man he is now reappears. it’s a staggering dichotomy she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to reconcile)

“I’ve got some work to get done,” he explains. They call out his name and he steps forward, hand curling around the coffee cup. As he turns it, she can see the writing scrawled on the side of the cup: black coffee, and as he heads over to the counter and pours a bit of milk in, it reassures her in the most mundane of ways that he still takes his coffee the same way. 

Perhaps many things about him have changed, but there is still one that remains the same. 

“I need the caffeine,” he says, as explanation. 

Devi nods. “Oh.” 

“What about you?” he asks, eyebrow raised. He smirks. “Last I checked, you drank exclusively hot chocolate.” 

“Yeah, well, hot chocolate doesn’t keep you awake during exam week in med school. I caved.” 

“Aren’t you out of school?” 

“I’m on night shift,” she explains. Devi glances at the clock, wincing. “I, um, I actually have to go now.” 

“Oh.” He blinks, twice, and steps back. “Right. Sorry for taking up your time.” 

“You didn’t,” she reassures him. 

Ben—this isn’t the Ben she remembers, skittish as a colt, ready to bolt any second. It’s unnerving, weird, seeing him so different. 

Or maybe this is who he is, now. She doesn’t  _ really _ know him anymore. She has nothing to say about that. 

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yeah.” 

“I’ll um—I’ll go, now.” 

“Yeah. Bye.” 

Devi turns away from him, trying to ignore how similar this is to high school, to breaking them. 

(you can’t break a broken thing any more. can you?) 

* * *

_ “Downton Abbey or Pride and Prejudice?”  _

_ “Neither. Alien.”  _

_ Devi gapes at him. “Ben, that’s the wrong genre entirely?”  _

_ He smirks. “Period dramas are not it.”  _

_ She snorts. “Oh, stop it. You’re literally just pretending. You like P&P just as much as the rest of us.” _

_ “David, come on. I have a reputation to keep up.”  _

_ “What, for being annoying?”  _

_ “Devilishly handsome, more like.”  _

_ Devi rolls her eyes. “You’re so full of it.”  _

_ Ben raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me, aren’t you my girlfriend? We are dating, right? Unless I missed a memo, or something, about our breakup.” _

_ “Yeah, just needed to get it notarized.”  _

_ “That’s fine.” He flops back on the bed and presses his hands to the back of his head. “Just give me back all my hoodies when you finally send it my way.”  _

_ Devi blinks. “What?”  _

_ He nods at her. “I want that hoodie back. Oh, and like, the three you have at home that are mine.”  _

_ “I don’t have three of your hoodies at home.” She doesn’t. She thinks she has four.  _

_ “However many hoodies you have, David. I want them back. They were expensive, you know.”  _

_ Devi smirks, lying down next to him. “This is soft, asshole. I’m not giving it back. Plus, I’m cold.” She presses her hands up into the sleeves of it, curling the cloth around her tighter.  _

_ “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” he says, smirking at her. “Plus, it is high end.”  _

_ “Ugh, Ben! You know things that cost below $300 can be good quality, right?”  _

_ “I’m not a peasant, David, so I wouldn’t, actually.”  _

_ “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”  _

_ “But you still love me.”  _

_ “I hate you.”  _

_ “Yeah, I hate you too.”  _

* * *

She debates approaching him for a solid like, five minutes, well aware she’s just staring at him from across the shop like a complete fucking weirdo. But, well, she’s not sure what she’s doing is the best option. 

Fuck it. 

Devi approaches Ben and taps him on the shoulder, causing him to turn around. “Devi?”

She smiles. “Hi.” 

“What, um—” 

“Look, Ben,” Devi sighs, smoothing her hands down her shirt. “We live in the same city. We’re clearly going to keep running into each other cause we live so close. And I don’t know about you, but I like this coffee shop. They make the best coffee and they’re not that far from my place.” 

Ben cocks an eyebrow, smirking. “What are you saying, David?” 

(it’s the first time he’s called her that in seven fucking years, and it bring her way more warmth than it should, brings her way too much joy. it’s like he dials every single emotion in her up to level eleven, the gunpowder that turns her from a flickering flame into an explosion) 

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just know that we can’t keep dancing around each other like this. You know, after everything that happened between us.” 

His eyes soften. “Uh, sit down?” he asks, gesturing to an empty table. 

She nods. 

Once they’re seated, he sighs, leaning back in his seat. “I know I’ve been weird about seeing you, lately,” he explains. “I just—I never expected to see you again. After we—” 

“After we broke up,” she finishes for him. 

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the table, over and over again, and she can’t help but let her eyes drift down to his hands. 

(and suddenly, she is 18, letting his hand slip out of hers, watching his eyes dim, she is letting go of the best thing that ever happened to her to save her from a broken heart—which she is giving to herself) 

“Yeah.” He leans forwards, smiling wryly at her. “Took me a while to start dating again, you know? I guess I was as obsessed with you as you were obsessed with me.” 

She snorts, relishing in the familiar back and forth. “I wasn’t obsessed with you, Gross.” 

“Really? That’s not what your mom said.” 

“Oh my god, stop bringing that up!” 

He laughs. “Never, Devi. I’m holding it over your head until the day I die.” 

“You’re a lawyer, Gross. Shouldn’t you know better than to blackmail anyone?” 

Ben smirks. “I mean, I do have a lot of blackmail on you. Secret collection of Jonas Brothers CDs, anyone?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“You wouldn't.” She narrows her eyes, annoyed that it doesn’t seem to scare him in the same way as it used to.

“I would.” 

She scans his face, looking for a hint of bluff in it, and his mouth betrays himself by curling up into a small smile. “You’re so ridiculous,” she huffs, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. “At least that hasn’t changed.” 

He shakes his head. “So, tell me about you. How’s your mom?” 

Devi smiles. “She’s good. You know, happy with Kamala and Prashant and the baby and everything.” 

Ben chokes on his coffee. “Your mom had another kid?” 

“What! No, Ben! God, you’re an idiot. Kamala’s baby.” 

“Oh. I haven’t seen your mom since high school.” 

Devi snorts. “I should hope not. Unless you started getting pizza face again.” 

“You’re cruel,” he laughs. “Glad to see that hasn’t changed.” 

Devi smiles, a little shaky. “Yeah.” 

They fall silent then, and the tension rises. She’s never been good with it, really, so she bites the bullet. She’s never been good at avoiding him, not really. “Where do we go from here, Ben?” 

Ben glances down at the table, and then back up at her, their eyes locking. Something deeper lurks in them, something she doesn’t want to confront. 

(it is like she is falling back into the past whenever she looks into his eyes, a vortex, a spinning blue-black hole. some fundamental part  _ aches _ for him, aches for him like you ache for a missing limb. phantom pain, she thinks it is called. when a missing part of you that can’t possibly hurt hurts. that is what ben is. he is her phantom pain)

He clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “We could try being friends.” 

“You think we really can do that?” 

“I’m willing to try if you are.” He grins, warm and bright. 

She blinks, doesn’t let her eyes flicker down to his lips, turned up in that exact same smile she remembers from high school. 

“So, David. What do you say? Friends?” 

Devi wants to say she stops to think about it, stops to consider the implications of entering into a friendship with her high school boyfriend and the one who got away, (or was she the one who got away?) who she’s not exactly sure she’s over. 

There are some very clear lines drawn in this situation, lines that she should respect and stay safely behind, lines she should take to heart. 

But that’s the thing about her and Ben. All they do is cross all the lines. 

“Friends.” 

* * *

_ “Hey.”  _

_ “Hey.”  _

_ “So.”  _

_ “Get to it, Gross.”  _

_ “I’m sorry.”  _

_ Devi sighs, turning to face him. “I’m sorry too.”  _

_ He reaches a hand out, covering her hand with his. “You know I hate it when we fight.”  _

_ She cracks a shaky smile at that. “All we do is fight, Ben.”  _

_ “Not like that,” he says, shaking his head. “You know what I mean. Like, really fight. I hate it.” He runs a thumb over her cheek. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”  _

_ She lifts her hand up, still curled around his, and presses her lips to palm. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”  _

_ “You had every right to.”  _

_ Devi scoots closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her fingers trace over her bed spread, door still open from when he entered her room. “I’m scared, Ben.”  _

_ “I know.”  _

_ “I don’t know what’s going to happen after high school, and I’m scared. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen after graduation, and you know Ivy decision day was coming up and I took it out on you. I’m sorry about that.”  _

_ “We’re all scared, Devi. And we both made mistakes.”  _

_ She leans up, pressing her forehead against his. “Do you want to talk about it?” he whispers.  _

_ She knows what he means. She knows he is talking about after graduation, the inevitability that is rushing towards them like a comet hurtling towards earth, nothing in its celestial path to slow it down. She cannot do anything to stop it. They are marching their relationship to the gallows while holding each other’s hand.  _

_ “No,” she whispers. “Not now. Let me just be here.”  _

_ “I love you,” he murmurs.  _

_ She cherishes those words, with every single fiber of her. There is a finite amount of times she will get to hear them, and time is whittling them away.  _

* * *

Devi opens her door to Ben standing there, holding a bottle of wine. “Uh,” he says, rocking on his heels. “Here.” 

Devi takes the bottle and looks at the vintage. “Holy shit,” she swears, nearly dropping it. 

Ben steps forward. “What? Do you not like that? Or do you drink red?” 

“No, no,” she stammers out. “It’s just—this is  _ way _ more expensive than anything I drink.” 

He smirks, shutting the door behind him. “Oh, I should have guessed. What, boxed wine from the grocery store?” 

She gives him a withering glare. “Please, Gross. I have more taste than that.” 

“I wouldn’t have expected it from these chotchkies you have littered around your apartment.” 

“Excuse me! My apartment is  _ exactly _ what a modern, young woman’s apartment should look like.” 

“What did you read that in,  _ Cosmo?” _

“Don’t you insult  _ Cosmo, _ or I’ll sit here and drink all this wine by myself.” 

“We’re in the city, Devi. Don’t think there’s a coyote around for you to talk to if you get drunk.” 

Devi scoffs and turns away from him, digging in her kitchen cabinets for a corkscrew. She should share the bottle with him, right? Because he bought it? But it  _ was _ a much better wine than she would ever drink. 

She turns around to ask him when the words die in her throat at the sight of him standing at her door. One hand is fiddling with his phone while he runs another through his hair. 

(for a second, she is watching him walk away (or did she walk away? devi can’t remember) out the door and back to his own life. and for the first time, she realizes, they are not tangled up in each other. the red string of fate that has always tied them together has been cut) 

Devi swallows dryly as she drinks him in, for the first time since she saw him again, subsisting on meager glances ever since they crashed into each other at the library. The stubble crossing his cheek speaks to how he’s grown, and he reaches up to scratch absently at his jaw as his thumb flicks across his screen. 

She struggles to tear her gaze away from him, letting her gaze fall to his hands. 

(and suddenly, she is kissing him again in a car on a malibu cliff, his hands sliding into her hair, she is falling, falling, falling, back into him) 

He rubs a hand down his face, shoulders relaxing as he breathes out, and Devi wants to map him out again, wants to rediscover every part of him. The muscles of his forearm shift when he pulls his jacket off, hanging it up by her door, and god, he’s only grown, only gotten more handsome with time. 

Devi resists the urge to slide her hands around his waist and press a kiss to the center of his shoulder blades, burying her face in his shirt. She wonders if he still smells the same—like sandalwood. 

The fabric of his t-shirt stretches tight over his shoulders and arms, and holy fuck, her ex-boyfriend’s kind of jacked. In what universe is this fair? But she can’t stop looking at his arms, can’t stop herself from sneaking glances at the pale veins that cross cross underneath his skin, like a subway line. 

She remembers how safe she would feel in his arms and she wants to feel that again. 

(she aches for him in the way you ache for butterflies and sunshine on a cloudy day, the absence of it all the more real when it’s just out of each. but they don’t get a second chance. she doesn’t get a second chance. they had what they had, and they stopped it. it was for the better, anyways. it was...right?)

Devi shakes her head and holds up the bottle of wine. “Do you want any?” she asks, shaking it slightly. 

Ben stuffs his phone in his pocket as he walks over. “No, I’m good,” he says. He lets his eyes dart around her apartment. “Nice place. Minus, you know, the chotchkies.” 

She smiles. “Thanks.” 

“So,” he says, leaning on the counter and grinning, “what movie do you have planned for tonight?  _ The Notebook?” _

Devi wrinkles her nose. “Never. Come on, you know me.” 

He shrugs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn she has on the table. “I don’t know, I thought your taste in movies had deteriorated or something.” 

“Oh, and let me guess, yours is pretentious as ever?” she says, grabbing the bottle and a glass. 

She sits down on the couch and grabs her remote. “Sorry, I didn’t queue up  _ Interstellar.” _

“What about  _ Gravity?” _ he asks, sitting next to her. 

“Ugh, no.” 

_ “The Martian?” _

“Ok, fine. But only cause I love Jessica Chastain.” 

Ben laughs. “Fair enough.” 

She starts playing the movie, and—it reminds her of all the nights they’d spent curled up on his couch, watching movies together. Devi had never been a big movie person, not before she’d started dating him, but they had enjoyed it. It had given them something more to talk about. 

“Ok, but you know sound doesn’t travel like that on Mars, right?” she smirks, glancing over at Ben. 

He shoots her a wry look. “We’re three minutes in.” 

“Ok, but, you know sound doesn’t travel like that on Mars, right?” she presses. “The atmospheric pressure on the Martian surface averages 600 Pa, about 0.6% of Earth's mean sea level pressure of 100 kPa. It’s so low that a fierce storm would be something like a very light breeze messing up your hair. Andy Weir even admitted it was his biggest scientific inaccuracy. You’d have to stand next to someone and  _ scream _ at them since sound doesn’t travel in the same way.” 

He reaches over and flicks her on the nose. “You need to learn how to relax and just watch a movie, Devi.” 

She huffs, crossing her arms. “I take offense to that. Plus, I can’t even  _ count _ the number of times we tried watching a period drama and you had to point out all of the historical inaccuracies in it.” 

“Ok, true,” he concedes. 

After a beat of silence, he glances over at her. “You—you didn’t hate that, right? When I pointed those things out?” 

Devi swallows, looking over at him. They hadn’t established the rules when it came to bringing up their past, but she supposes she can’t be surprised it took him this long. 

“No. I didn’t.” 

Ben nods carefully, and then a smile breaks out over his face. 

(and then she is 15, falling in love with him all over again in her kitchen—over promposals and pizza, falling in love with him hard and fast, like the waves crashing into a sandcastle, washing away all the evidence it was ever there) 

“Well,” he says, smirking. “I’m glad. And, I’m willing to listen to you blabber on about scientific inaccuracy.” 

“This movie doesn’t have a lot of it.” 

“Just Jessica Chastin, right?” 

“You know it.” 

Ben laughs, and stretches his arm out over the back of the couch, playing with her hair. By the easy, untensed look on his face, Devi doubts he’s noticed, but she has. 

In an attempt to take her mind off of it, she says, “You know that if the oxygenator, water reclaimer, or RTG failed, he would have died, right?” 

Ben rolls his eyes fondly, smirking at her. “NASA, hire Devi Vishwakumar now.”

“How much do you think they pay? I could use a raise.” 

“For what? More celebrity gossip magazines?” 

“I’ll have you know celebrity gossip is the  _ lifeblood _ of the news industry these days.” 

He throws a piece of popcorn at her. “You know, you haven’t changed.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. “What?” 

“Still the same old Devi,” he says, grinning. “A little more grown up and a little less angry, but the same.” 

“You’re not,” she says quietly, the words slipping out before she can stop them.

He freezes, looking at her. “What?” 

“You’ve changed,” she says, clearing her throat. She looks away from him and focuses on the screen, where NASA is discovering Mark Watney is alive. “A lot.” 

He cracks an awkward smile. “More handsome, right?” 

Devi doesn’t even look at him as she tosses a piece of popcorn at him. “You’re just—different.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him frown. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“I don’t think it is.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them. “I still haven’t decided.” 

“Well, I am smarter than I was in high school.” 

“You weren’t very smart in high school, Gross, so that’s not saying much.” 

“Excuse me, we were neck and neck the entire time.” 

She smirks. “Who was valedictorian? Cause I certainly don’t remember it being you.” 

He reaches over and thumps her on the head with the pillow, and it’s so similar to their old movie nights she wants to cry even as she laughs. 

They’re friends, now. She’s missed her friend. While they were falling for each other they had become friends, while they had dated, they had become friends, and when they broke up she lost her best friend  _ and _ her boyfriend. 

But again, when it comes to her and Ben, they cross all the lines. They don’t know how to keep everything neat and clean, don’t know how to not blur things. 

Devi ignores the nausea in her gut and settles back against the couch to continue watching the movie. 

(her and ben’s relationship has never been black and white, always streaked in shades of grey. they are a photograph, the kind that fades if you don’t maintain it correctly, the kind where the ink rubs off on your fingers when you touch it, and you struggle to remember exactly what it looked like)

Devi glances over at him, watching him, and he glances back. “What?” he asks, grinning. 

“Nothing,” she lies, and tucks her legs underneath her, relishing in the warmth coming from him. 

* * *

_ Devi wakes up to bright sunlight scattering across her eyes and Ben, quietly turning the pages of a book.  _

_ She groans, lifting her hand to her head. “What happened?” _

_ “Good morning, David,” he says gently, voice teasing. He closes the book and leans forward in his chair, running his hand down her face carefully. “Are you feeling ok?”  _

_ She sits up more fully on the mattress, realizing she’s in his bed. “I feel like someone ran over me with a train,” she groans.  _

_ Ben chuckles softly. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get wasted on New Year’s Eve.”  _

_ Devi’s eyes widen. “What?”  _

_ “Yeah, you got wasted. I drove you here cause I didn’t want you showing up to your house like this. You kept saying you didn’t want to date me, though, cause you were taken.”  _

_ Devi’s face flushes red as she spots the smirk on Ben’s face. “Oh fuck.” _

_ He leans back in his chair, smirking, even as the back of his thumb strokes her hand. “Yeah, you kept telling me about your amazing boyfriend who you loved so much, and who you thought was actually smart but would never tell him and had the prettiest eyes and a nice smile and how he was really sweet to you—”  _

_ “Shut up.”  _

_ “And how much you loved him and liked how he smelled and—”  _

_ “Shut the hell up,” she grits out.  _

_ “And how you had more of his hoodies than you thought but because it was a secret I couldn’t tell anyone—”  _

_ “Gross, if you don’t shut up right now, I’m breaking up with you.”  _

_ He laughs, getting up off his chair to come sit next to her, stroking her hair with his hand. “You love me too much to do that.”  _

_ “Don’t test me,” she mutters, even as she leans into his touch.  _

_ He presses a kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I’m sure one of these days, I’ll get drunk and tell you everything too.”  _

_ “I’ll be standing by with my camera.”  _

_ “Wouldn’t have expected anything less.”  _

* * *

Devi arrives at the restaurant just after Ben, and she spots him outside, having clearly just come from work, waiting for her. She takes in the ever so slightly askew tie at his throat, the fountain pen tucked into his breast pocket—like he fucking uses it—the way the entire world seems to rest on his shoulders, 

(it always had, even back in high school. she’d loved him, loved him with everything she was, but she was never as good as taking care of him as he was of her, and in the deep, dark parts of her mind that come alive late at night when her walls are down and she lets herself think about them—she wonders if that was what broke them, if she did. 

(it’s not true, because what broke them was time and—maybe he just didn’t love her like she loved him. they were just kids back then, kids playing at being in love—even if she was never playing)

it haunts her, sometimes, that she could have done something different, that if she had maybe they would not have ended up here, on opposite sides of a chasm as big and deep as the empty hole in her chest where her heart used to be) 

She clutches her purse tightly, digs her nails into palms so she stops thinking about it, because she’s  _ over it, she is, _ and taps him on the shoulder. 

He starts slightly, whirling around and seeing her. 

“Late as always, Devi?” he smirks, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I had to come from a settlement and I was here before you.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the one paying, Gross, so I thought I would waste your time as much as possible.” 

He laughs, holding the door open for her. “Yeah, well. Thanks for coming, I guess.” 

“You did ask me to,” she smirks. “So, what did you need my help with?” 

“I have an important client I’m trying to get to settle and I’m thinking about wining and dining them here. Since you’re pretty much the most stubborn person I know, I was hoping that you could tell me if this was a decent place.” 

She looks around the restaurant, ridiculously high class, the kind of place she, frankly, dislikes, (and if she remembers anything from high school, he secretly hates as well) but the exact perfect place to take someone you were trying to impress. 

Low lighting, paneled wood, orchids strategically and perfectly placed, it’s the epitome of sophistication. 

She glances over at Ben, who’s getting their reservation, and never before has she felt more out of place. He looks like he belongs here, expensive suit and silk tie, brand watch on his wrist as he easily chats with the host. Even his hair is done exactly how she likes it, not perfectly styled but a little windswept after running his hands through it all day. 

He fits in here, and she can’t help but feel like he fits here more than he ever fit with her. 

(in her heart of hearts, she knows she’d never fit in anywhere quite as well as she did with him, and she hopes, oh, she hopes against all hopes, that he feels the same way)

He comes back to her and gives her a bright smile, and she swallows down the lump rising in her throat. “You ready?” 

“I thought you said you had been here before,” she says, following him to a corner table. She presses her lips at the absurdity of it all. Of  _ course _ he would get a corner table.

The smile slips from his face and his hands tighten around the back of her chair for the slightest moment before he pulls it out and goes to his own. “I took a date here once.” 

Devi blinks, lets the information settle in. Processes it. Compartmentalizes it. Moves on. 

(in high school their dates had been fast-food restaurants and greasy napkins, salty french fries and kisses that tasted like the soda that he drank but pretended to hate. they had been random, whenever they wanted, getting thrown out of movies and holding hands while shopping in the mall, looking at the sunset and watching movies together. but now his dates have become sophisticated velvet seats and flower petals, corner tables with low lightning and sauvignon blanc, and devi aches for the golden moments of their youth to return, when she felt invincible. she aches for him to be the boy she fell in love with, no matter how impossible that is)

That’s the thing about home, though. Once you leave it, you can never really go back. 

“Oh,” she says simply, blinking at him. 

She’s not exactly sure how to respond, so she deflects, like always. 

“How long did  _ that _ relationship last?” she snorts. “Please don’t tell me you scared her off with talking about how you have a subscription to  _ The New Yorker,”  _ she snorts. 

He rolls his eyes, picking up the wine menu. “It’s a respectable publication and not something I should be ashamed about.” 

“It’s not something girls want to hear about on a first date,” she scoffs, flipping open her wine menu, scanning the options as he rolls his eyes at her. 

“So, Gross,” she says, “I want to hear your pitch.” 

Ben lowers the menu to narrow his eyes at her. “What?” 

“You said you had a client to wine and dine. Well, wine and dine me. Pitch me your settlement offer.” 

“You don’t know anything about the case.” 

“I’m a doctor, Ben. We’re not exactly idiots. Explain it to me and I’ll see if I can help.” 

He still looks a bit unsure, but launches into an explanation of the difficulties in getting the honorary CEO to give up his title to pass some resolution. 

She follows along, asking questions as best she can and resisting the urge to down her entire glass of wine as his eyes sparkle, as his smile widens. She nearly breaks it in her grip. 

God, what is  _ wrong _ with her? She’s over him, she’s over them. It’s been seven fucking  _ years, _ seven years since they saw each other. 

Devi nearly cries in relief when the waiter appears to take their dinner order. “Um, I’ll have the pan-seared lamb tenderloins,” she says, shutting the menu. 

“I’ll take the duck, with the side salad, but hold the tomatoes, please,” Ben says, handing his menu to the waiter. 

She freezes, staring at him. 

He notices her looking and smirks. “Captivated by my good looks?” 

When she doesn’t say anything, the smirk slips off his face, replaced by a worried expression. “Devi, are you ok?” 

She swallows, fingers playing with her fork. “You still hate tomatoes?” 

His brow furrows. “What?” 

“Your salad. You didn’t—you didn’t get them with tomatoes.” 

“Oh. Um, yeah. I still hate tomatoes.” He’s looking at her like she’s crazy and she’s well aware she’s acting like she is, but this is—it’s a bit earth shattering to her. 

(because this little scrap of information, that he still hates tomatoes, that he takes his coffee in the exact same way, it’s her lighthouse in a hurricane, her guiding beacon back to the safety of land. it's proof that the boy he was, the boy he used to be with  _ her, _ isn’t completely and totally dead, and she feels hope bloom in her heart like a daffodil on the first day of spring, after a long, frigid winter, at the thought)

She bites her tongue to avoid saying any of this. “I was hoping your tastes had gotten better with time, but clearly not.” 

“I see you still eat like a five year old at a birthday party,” he says, smirking. 

“Excuse me, some of us like to eat things that actually taste good? But I guess you wouldn’t know about that, considering you like  _ kale.” _

“You’re a literal doctor. Shouldn’t you know all about how to eat healthy?” 

“I’m a doctor, which means I can tell other people what to do with their lives and they have to listen to me.” 

“Oh, you went into the perfect profession for you, then,” he says, shaking his head and smirking at her. 

Ben’s phone buzzes and he winces. “Sorry, I have to take this.” 

He gets up from the table and ducks a bit further away, and Devi leans back in her seat, watching him. 

Whoever is on the phone makes him smile, and he laughs quietly, shoving his other hand into his pants pocket. 

She feels her gut clench as she looks at the smile on his face, admires the way his shoulders seem impossibly broad underneath the blazer, the way it makes him look like a rich jackass, sophisticated and powerful. 

Fuck, she’s so fucking attracted to him. 

It really shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to her. They had dated for  _ two fucking years, _ and she had been into him then. 

What surprises her is how badly she wants him. Wants him to wrap his arms around her waist and litter kisses all over her face, to dig his fingers into her hipbones and run his hands down the span of her back, to rake his teeth down her throat and make her feel  _ good. _

(she blinks and suddenly she is 17, heart in her throat as he moves above her for the first time, and it hurts, it does but he is here and he is gentle, kind, gives her space to breathe and figure things out. it is awkward, incredibly awkward and there is more than one lull, but there is also so much gentleness in his touch, and that’s the part of it that feels so good) 

There’s a layer of trust built into every interaction with Ben, this certainty that she feels about him that hasn’t ebbed away in the slightest, even after all these years apart. She wonders what it says about her that she still trusts him, mind, body, and soul, that she still feels like he knows her, inside and out. 

She’s hoping she still knows him. 

He reappears then, tucking his phone back away. “Sorry about that,” he says. 

She shakes her head, waving it off with a wave of her hand. “I enjoyed the peace and quiet for a bit.” 

“Sorry to ruin it for you.” 

“Well, you were the one who proposed us being friends,” she laughs. 

They bicker for the rest of the night, and Ben doesn’t even  _ flinch _ when she reaches over to steal bites of his food—like she did all the time back then—doesn’t blink when she orders the most expensive dessert on the menu for dinner. He just smirks at her, mocks her for her chocolate addiction. 

(sometimes the years between them stretch out further and further, like a gaping chasm she wonders if they will ever cross. sometimes she feels like the lost time between them is like a ravine and their friendship a rope bridge, precarious, swaying in the wind, liable to damage. and then sometimes they feel like the foundation of a brick house, steady and sure, withstanding torrential downpour and tornado grade winds)

When they finally get up to leave it’s late outside, almost 9, and Devi’s somewhat dead on her feet. She yawns as she gets up.

“Someone’s tired,” Ben remarks, holding open the door for her. 

“You try working the night shift three nights in a row,” she mutters. “You’d be tired too.” 

He laughs. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” 

She shivers then, the New York chill getting to her. It’s summer, so it’s not horribly cold, but she’s still a little chilly.

“Here,” he says. Devi glances over to see him placing his jacket around her shoulders. It’s not an—an unfamiliar gesture. It’s something he used to do all the time back when they were dating—but they’re not. 

She clutches the lapels of his jacket and tugs it tighter around herself, feeling tears prick the corner of her eyes when she realizes it still smells the same—like sandalwood. 

Ben steps a bit away from the street and taps on his phone, clearly calling for an Uber, but she can’t stop looking at him. 

God, she never—she never fell  _ out _ of love with him, did she? She never stopped loving him, even after they broke up, even after they spent thousands of miles and almost a decade apart. It’s like this whole time her stupid heart has just been waiting for him. 

(when she closes her eyes and breathes she remembers the way he smiled when she told him she loved him for the first time, the way he kissed her, warm and happy and soft, like she was everything he’d ever need—and it still holds true now—he’s the only thing she’ll ever need, for the rest of her life—and he’s the only thing she can’t have) 

Devi opens her eyes when she feels Ben touch her arm gently. “The car’s here,” he says, tilting his head towards the street.

She nods, not trusting herself to say anything, she settles in. The car ride back to her apartment is quiet, and she’s unsurprised when he slips out of the car behind her. 

When they finally reach her door, she hesitates for a moment before turning to him. “Want a nightcap?” 

He looks almost shocked at her offer, before nodding. “I’ll take whatever you got.” 

Devi hands him a beer—simply grabbing one out of the freezer—and twists the top off, sipping her own. 

Ben smiles as he turns it around in his hand, looking at the label. 

“What?” Devi says, raising an eyebrow, 

“Nothing. It’s just—this is the brand we drank the first time we spent New Year’s together,” he says, smiling. “The time you told me everything you loved about me when you were wasted.” 

Her hand drops to the side in shock. “You remember that?” 

His eyes darken, ocean blue in the dim light. “I remember everything.” 

She can’t—can’t take it anymore. “Then why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why did you let me go?”

Ben stares at her in shock.  _ “Why?  _ Devi, I let you go because I had to.” 

“So what, Ben!” Her hands are shaking, and she’s so wound up she can barely think straight. “Did you not love me enough?” 

He steps forward. “Not love you enough? God, Devi, no. That’s  _ why _ I had to let you go. I loved you too much to keep you with me.” 

She stops cold. “What?” 

Ben shrugs. “I loved you enough to let you go. If I loved you any less, I would have kept you. Didn’t you do the same thing to me?” 

(she thinks back on the moment when she shattered things)

“I had to let you go, Ben. I had to.” 

“You loved me too much to keep me with you.” 

“I owed it to you. To let you go.” 

He smirks then. “Quoting  _ The Good Place? _ You didn’t come up with anything more original?” 

She smiles at that. “You quoted  _ Glee, _ so shut up, Ben.” 

He sighs, setting his beer back down against her kitchen counter and crossing his arms. “I thought about us,” he confesses. 

She casts her eyes down to the floor. “I wish I could say the same.” 

“I loved you a lot, you know.” 

(she ignores the usage of past tense in that sentence, how much it hurts her to hear him say he  _ loved _ her when she knows she loves him, will always, always love him. she ignores the pain that slices her heart up into ribbons at the reminder that he has moved on from them, moved on from their high school relationship like a healthy, functioning person, that he has been dating and finding new people while she has been here the whole time, hopelessly gone for him. the sad truth is that they were the story of almost, and that she is the sad fool wishing for a second chance when she doesn’t deserve one)

“I loved you too.” 

“When—um—when did it start?” 

She licks her lips and sighs. “In—in my kitchen, I think. When you came over to eat. That was the first time I saw  _ you.” _

He nods, a soft look in his eyes. It’s a good memory, one she holds golden and precious in her heart, tucked away carefully behind her father’s laugh and her mother’s smile. “What about—what about you?” 

Ben laughs. “Don’t mock me, but it was Model UN.” 

She stares at him. “Model UN?” 

“Yeah. Sitting on the floor of the hotel room in Davis. I don’t know, I guess I just realized I liked arguing with you more than I liked doing anything with anyone else. Of course, it took me the longest time to realize what that  _ meant, _ but.” 

She smiles at him. “We both kinda sucked at direct communication.” 

Ben snorts. “You mean you sucked at direct communication.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever you need to say to comfort yourself.” 

Silence falls over them, and he smiles at her, soft, with just a little touch of sadness to it. “It hurt, after we broke up. It took me a while to move on.” 

Devi doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to hear the story of how he fell out of love with her, but—but she has to. Maybe it’ll help her fall out of love with him. 

(yeah right. fat chance of  _ that _ ever happening)

She can’t—can’t confront this part of her past now, so she tosses her head back, crossing her arms over her chest, and smirks. “You’re the first ex of mine to ever get over me.” 

He smiles then. “Well, I’ll make sure to get a medal for that.” 

(he is the only ex she wishes hadn’t)

But she has him here, right now. She’ll love him, love him in fragments and pieces and however he wants to be loved. She’ll take whatever scraps of himself he gives to her.

Letting him go once was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. She’s not doing it again. 

* * *

_ “Hey, Gross, don’t you think I look beautiful?”  _

_ “Do I need to feed that already massive ego of yours, David?” he smirks, pulling her closer to him.  _

_ “I mean, you really should pick up a handbook or something, cause you’re the worst at giving compliments. It’s prom, you idiot. Tell me I’m pretty.”  _

_ Ben leans down and presses a quick kiss to her lips, fleeting and soft. “You look beautiful, Devi,” he whispers. “As if I haven’t told you that enough lately.”  _

_ He has, actually, whispered it in her ear and traced it down her arm, pressed individual kisses to her fingers and she knows he will say it again tonight. She’ll never get tired of hearing it, though, not because she’s egotistical but because she loves the way he sounds when he says it.  _

_ The cadence of his voice, the way it wraps around the words and how easily they fall from his lips—everything about this moment reminds her of the sickly sweet, dry warmth of summer, licking peach juice off her hands and chiseling patterns out of the night sky, making up their own constellations while lying in the grass and laughing at mediocre jokes.  _

_ She reaches up and touches his face, galaxies swimming in his eyes. “Thank you,” she murmurs, just before she presses her lips to his.  _

_ She wishes she were able to immortalize this moment in amber, hang it around her neck with a piece of twine and clutch at it whenever she needs comfort, but all she has is her memories, and so she replays it, over and over again.  _

_ They are the only record they have of each other.  _

* * *

She’s a little tipsy, her ex-boyfriend is at the other end of the bar tonight, and he looks unfairly good. 

It’s a recipe for disaster, and one that Devi has no plans for derailing. 

Ben hasn’t even noticed her, tapping away at his phone as he sips his drink, dressed in a simple shirt and jeans—though they probably look a lot more expensive than they are—and god, he looks so good she’s scared she might be drooling. 

She’s always loved him in blue, bringing out the color of his eyes until they shine like gems, but the black shirt he’s wearing does sinful things to his shoulders and she has to restrain herself from accosting him right in the middle of the fucking bar. He keeps running his hand through his hair, slightly tousled, and he looks more masculine, more  _ rugged, _ her mind corrects, than she can ever remember him being. 

Devi’s always been drawn to him, and right now is no exception. 

(this is easier to handle than the fact that she’s fallen back in love with him, though, because physical attraction is hormones and chemicals mixing together in her body—of course she would be attracted to him, she was for two years straight—but loving him was a map to destruction, a tragic credo written in stone)

Well, she wants him, and it’s a bad decision, but, she’s going for it. From what she remembers, it would be a hell of a bad decision. 

Devi shoves the rest of her beer away, determined to not drink enough so that she won’t remember tonight. In the dim part of her brain, the one not occupied by reckless tendencies or impulsivity, it reminds her that hooking up with her ex-boyfriend—who is also her best friend, who is also the man she’s currently head over heels in love with—is probably not the best thing to do. 

But god, he shouldn’t be allowed to look this good, then. She really cannot be blamed for her impulses. 

She walks over to him, resting her fingers gently on his arm. “Hey, Ben,” she says. 

He glances over at her and does a small double take, before his lips curve up into a smirk. “Glad to see someone finally crawled out of her apartment to enter back into her social life.” 

She snorts. “Still had more of one than you.” 

“I have a social life, Devi. Just because I don’t go out clubbing all the time doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I just don’t prefer to spend all my time drinking at Drake’s new club. Which I could get into, you know, Drake was really thankful to my dad for—” 

She reaches up and tugs him closer by the collar of his t-shirt, pressing her lips to his. 

He’s frozen in shock for a moment, completely still against her lips, before he pulls back. “What are you doing, Devi?” he asks, voice low. His pupils are blown wide, and his eyes keep flickering down to her lips. 

She runs her thumb over his bottom lip, resisting the urge to drag him in for another kiss. “I, um,” she swallows, “I wanted to do that.” 

“Why?” 

“You were always—always good and I’m not—in the mood to find someone else tonight. I was just…” 

“You want me to take you home?” His eyes scan her face, looking for a hint of hesitance, but she doesn’t feel any, and that’s what scares her. She just wants to fit back into him, bodies slotting together perfectly like they always did  _ before. _

“I do.” 

“Do you think that’s smart?” 

She shrugs, grappling for a reasoning. “It’s oxytocin and vasopressin. Hormones. It’s a chemical reaction. It would make sense that I would find it easier to be with you than anyone else since I already know you.” 

(and she does know him, knows him still, loves him still, and this will—it will destroy them, she already knows that, but she craves him like a fire craves oxygen—and she wonders how long it will take for her to burn out once she uses him up) 

Ben’s jaw tightens. “I’m not doing this if you’re not absolutely sure about it. Like, positive.” 

“I am.” 

“This doesn’t change anything between us?”

It’s a code, a double layer. He is asking,  _ will you hate me? Will we be able to be friends after this? _

“It doesn’t change anything.”  _ I don’t know. I don’t know. _

Ben reaches out and cups her jaw with his hand, and then he kisses her. 

He kisses the same way he used to back in high school, strong, and sure, but soft, like diving into the deep end of a pool. It starts shallow and then grows deeper, opens her up, breaks her open and lets her heart spill out. 

And yet, his kisses have changed as well. He kisses her with an edge of desperation to it, as if he is aware of the ticking time bomb they have carved into this moment, as if he knows this will end. 

This is not the first time they have done this, have been entangled up in a moment with an expiry date, but it is the first time Devi has felt it this keenly, like a broken rib, puncturing her lung so she cannot breathe. 

He pulls away, and silently, slides his hand down her arm, lacing their fingers together. There is no question in his eyes as he pulls them from the bar, because Ben has known her for twenty years, has known every part of her. Even after 7 years, even after she has changed and he has changed, she will always be his. 

The air between them is silent, thick with their past, and they do not talk as they walk to his apartment. She holds his hand, and does not make any move to pull his closer. 

When they reach his door, he lets go of her hand and digs into his pocket, pulling out his keys. The lock clicks as he turns his key, and Ben’s eyes flicker over to her once more. “You sure?” he asks, one more time.

(and suddenly, she is hearing those same words again, 17, wanting to be with him, he is the same, the same boy she fell in love with. he has never stopped putting her first) 

Devi pushes the memories away, and turns the knob, opening the door. 

The second they are in the apartment he shuts the door behind them and tugs her closer, kissing her. 

Her squeak of surprise is muffled against his lips, but she kisses him back. He’s as addicting as ever, and Devi feels like she’s relapsed, throwing away her sober for 7 years coin with ease. Ben’s a drug she can never,  _ never _ get enough of, the high she never wants to end. 

He spins around and pushes her against the counter, the granite digging into the small of her back, and then moves it hands down her body. She arches into his touch, a torrential downpour after a dry, acrid drought. 

His hands tighten on her lips as he steps just a little closer, pressing her more firmly into the counter, arm banding around her waist to hold her up. His other hand trails down her stomach and flicks open the button of her jeans easily. 

Devi pulls away from him, gaping at him. “What—what are you doing?” 

He nudges her jaw with his nose, and scatters kisses across her collarbone, up to her neck, back down again. 

“I’m going to watch you fall apart on my hands,” he murmurs, “and then I’m going to take you apart in my bed.” 

She arches into him at that, noting that  _ that’s _ new. “Oh,” she gasps. “Ok.” 

He gently slips two fingers inside of her, eyes flicking over her face intently as her own slip shut at the sensation. 

Fuck, how can it feel like this? 

Ben twists his hand and pulls them out of her slightly before pushing back in, and she grips his biceps as tight as she possibly can. Her mind spins at how it feels, so much like high school and yet so different, even better. 

He picks up speed inside of her, and she moans, nails digging into his skin. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’ve missed watching you.” 

Devi ignores the implication of that statement and drops her head forward, forehead brushing his collarbone. “Ben,” she gasps, “move faster, Ben.” 

He goes even faster, rubbing against that spot inside of her that drives her insane, and she’s close, so close already. 

It’s been seven years, and yet he still knows her body so well, still knows everything about her. He remembers her. 

He shifts then, pressing his thumb against her clit, and she breaks. 

She bows into him as she comes, desperate for more contact, for more  _ him. _ Bliss thrums in her veins as she shatters, clutching onto him, her safe harbor. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, so quiet she almost misses it.

Ben leans forward and kisses her jaw, lips moving down to gently suck at the curve of her neck and shoulder, teeth grazing skin ever so lightly. There’s no bite to it, nothing but reverence in his touch, as if he’ll never spend enough time with his hands on her.

When she finally opens her eyes, he’s looking right at her, lust and something  _ else _ swimming in his. 

“Well,” she says, trying to deflect, letting her lips curl up in an easy smile, “You made good on one half of your promise.”

He laughs then suddenly. “You are right about that.” 

Devi holds her breath as he leads her down the hall, into his room. It’s slightly messy, messier than she expected, and she nearly crumbles at the fact that their agreement isn’t pinned up. 

(for some reason this breaks her—even if there is  _ no _ reason for it to be pinned up in this room, in this space. this is unhallowed ground, left fresh for her to dig her toes in, not like his childhood bedroom, which holds a thousand memories of them, a thousand memories of him) 

Ben leans forward and kisses her skin, kisses the back of her neck as he slides his hands around her waist, and she sighs when he digs his fingers into her hips with just the right amount of firmness to make her melt into him. 

He’d always felt good back in high school, always tried to make it good for her when they were starting out, even when it had hurt and there was no reason for him to—but now he’s not even trying and it feels good. 

Part of it is time, she knows, but the dark, jealous part of her seethes with anger at the thought that he must have been with other girls, even though she’s been with other guys. 

They were never  _ him. _

She spins around and kisses him, kisses him as hard as she can so that he gets what she needs. He always has, reaching down and sliding his hands up her stomach to take her top off. 

Her hair tumbles down around her face and she shakes her head, reaching out to slide her hands around his stomach to his waist to tug him closer after he tosses his own shirt in the corner of the room. 

He slides his hands down her hips, hooking his thumbs into her jeans and pushes them down gently. 

It’s exactly how he would undress her back in high school, and tears come to her eyes before she blinks them back. 

They take their time, and he whispers things into her skin as he takes clothing off her body, quiet enough so that she can’t even hear him. She can feel his lips move against her skin and her throat closes up. She wants to believe he’s telling her he loves her but—she knows what that feels like. He’d whispered it into her skin enough times before for her to know. 

Ben lays her gently down on the bed, his hands running down her legs, and he kisses his way down her body. Suddenly, he stops, fingers gently brushing over her ribcage. 

“You got a tattoo,” he murmurs. 

Devi nods. “Yeah. It’s of the coda in Concerto for Flute, Harp, and Orchestra. It was—” 

“Your dad’s favorite piece.” His eyes flick up and lock with hers. “I remember.” 

She can’t look away, but she needs to, needs to be able to breathe, and he makes the decision for her, leaning down and pressing his lips to the ink, fingers gently tracing over it. 

It’s—it’s too perfect, everything about him she’d missed combined with skill,  _ everything. _

(how can she ever come back from this? mind, body, soul, all of it, it’s his)

He kisses the inside of her thigh and she gasps. “Ben, are—are you—” 

Ben smirks against her knee. “I need to redeem myself from high school.” 

“For what?” she gasps, fingers curling around the bedsheets as he nips at her skin with his teeth. “I don’t—you weren’t  _ bad.” _

He chuckles. “Devi, I’ve gotten a  _ lot _ better.” 

“That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it?” 

“Well, granted, I’d rather show you than tell you.” 

When he leans down and drags his tongue over her, she nearly sobs, taken aback at the sharp shock of pleasure that runs through her. The year he spent learning her, her body, coupled with how good he is now wreaks havoc on her systems, and it is not long before she is gasping into the air, eyes slipping shut in delirium. 

She breaks under him easily, his name the one word she remembers. 

When he leans up and kisses her, she’s shaking around him, drags him closer, hands sliding over those shoulders, his body fitting into hers as if it had never left. He knows exactly how to orient himself, and Devi doesn’t want to think about why half of the reason this feels so good is because of their past, because of the hours they spent learning each other. 

She remembers, she can’t not, of how determined he was to make it feel good for her, how it had felt the first time she had come, the smug smirk on his face that for once, she didn’t hate. The way he had worshipped her. 

He does the same now, hand slipping around her waist to pull her closer, mouth pressing kisses down her chest, between the valley of her breasts, every inch of skin he can touch. 

(if they are two tectonic plates coming together, the space between their bodies the fault line, then devi wants an earthquake to happen)

When he finally moves into her she gasps, nails scraping across his back ever so slightly. The pleasure builds up in her gut and he touches her so right, so perfectly that she thinks if she closes her eyes hard enough, she will open them and be back in his room, sunlight spilling over them, back to being young and in love. 

He hitches her legs up a little higher and she whimpers, scratching at his back a little more firmly, the coil in her stomach tightening. 

“I—I’m close,” she whimpers. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Beautiful.” 

Ben leans down and scrapes his teeth over the exact same spot he would do in high school, and she almost sobs. It feels like the past is drowning her while she tries to stay afloat. He feels the same and so different at the same time, holding her tight to him in the same way, but moving into her far steadier and surer than he had been when they were young. 

(when they were young, when they were young, it’s a phrase she never stops repeating around him; caught in the limbo of who they were and who they are now) 

“Come on, Devi.” 

Part of her doesn’t want to, because as soon as she does, this is over—this fragile peace they have stacked up on a house of cards, able to be knocked over with a whisper. 

“Come for me.” 

She can’t hold back anymore, and flies apart, her mind filled with him; Ben’s hands on her lips, his hair brushing her skin, his eyes, looking into hers, his mouth whispering to her. She bites down on the skin of his neck as she breaks, to stop herself from saying she loves him. 

He shudders and follows her, and she traces patterns down his back as he comes down, waiting for him to lift his head up and kiss her. She remembers too. 

She looks into his eyes then, blue and dark, and leans up. Their lips brush, soft, more of a gentle caress than a kiss, whispering against each other. 

“Stay.” 

No. No, she shouldn’t. She should leave and run and try to pick up the pieces of her broken heart, fly to the other side of the world to escape him. 

(the other side of the universe wouldn't be enough. she’s always going to be drawn to him. devi is a comet hurtling towards the sun, helplessly trapped in an orbit she knows will destroy her)

But she’s weak, when it comes to him, weak when it comes to stopping herself from indulging, and this can’t end yet. She’s not felt close enough to him. 

“Ok,” she whispers back. 

She buries her face in his neck, smells sandalwood and tries not to cry as he holds her. 

Devi falls asleep surrounded by him, and wakes up the next morning in much of the same way. Ben’s still asleep, a rarity, and he’s on his back, gently breathing. She stares at him, her heart breaking. 

Small mercies have been made on her, leaving him asleep and unable to convince her to stay, and she slips out from the bed, quietly getting dressed, refusing to take her eyes off of him, watching for any sign that he’s awake.

(what has she done, what has she done, what has she done? falling back into bed with the only boyfriend she’s sure she’s ever loved, the only person who knew her, inside and outside, ugly scars and all. she’s broken the best thing that ever happened to her—for the second time) 

Devi stifles a sob, pressing her hand to her mouth. She loves him so much it  _ hurts, _ and before she could have pretended that she didn’t know what he was like, that she was romanticizing their relationship but—she can’t now. Now that she knows his kisses are the same, that he  _ remembers. _ He’s it for her. There’s no way around it, no other caveat to add. 

He’s it, and she doesn’t deserve him. 

She shakily walks towards him, crouching next to the side of the bed and dragging her fingers over his face. He looks beautiful in sleep, stubble crossing his jaw, body loose. She hates that she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but loves that she can take him in one last time. 

“You did this,” she whispers, to herself. “You stupid  _ idiot.” _

He took her heart when they were fifteen, and for the last decade, he has held onto it, never giving it back. 

Devi leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead, breathing him in, savoring the touch of his skin against hers for one last time. If she leaves, the pain will feel less fresh, less like a hot knife stabbing her in the stomach. “I love you,” she whispers, so quiet she can’t even hear herself. 

Then, before she can second guess herself, she backs up out of the room, turning around and slipping out of his apartment. 

The door slams shut and locks before she can second guess her choice, and she leans back against his apartment door, tears spilling down her face. 

The baggage of who they were and who they are now weighs on her shoulders. It’s a memory that she wishes she didn’t have, that she wishes she could burn out of her mind. She’d always thought she and Ben were made to be together, complementary wholes, like solar winds and magnetospheric plasma combining to make aurora borealis. 

She was wrong. 

It’s beginning to seem like they’re always made to be a planetary conjunction, appearing close, but actually far apart.

* * *

_ “Ben,” she says quietly.  _

_ He turns to her.  _

_ “You know we have to do this.”  _

_ He steps forward and slides his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He’s playing dirty, holding her, looking at her like that. He’s making her want to stay with him, want to be with him.  _

_ But she can’t. They can’t. It would be the first promise they made to each other that they would break.  _

_ “I know,” he murmurs. “I know.”  _

_ “Long distance it’s just—it’s not something we can do.”  _

_ “How long is 2 hours, anyways?” he chuckles, but she can see the acceptance marring his face.  _

_ Devi reaches up and cards her hands through his hair, moving down to cup his jaw. “We would make each other miserable. We would end up resenting each other.”  _

_ He swallows roughly. Nods at her, hand pulling her impossibly closer. “I know. I just—I already resent you for being valedictorian,” he quips. “What’s a little more?”  _

_ “Ben.”  _

_ He leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “God, Devi,” he whispers. “I’m going to miss you.”  _

_ “I’ll miss you too.” She searches deep in her gut for the courage to say the next few words. “And I—I think we need to not talk to each other. For a few months.”  _

_ He doesn’t even look surprised. “To let each other go.”  _

_ “We can’t hold each other back. We have to start fresh.”  _

_ “Were you happy?” he asks, quietly.  _

_ It’s an unexpected question, one that takes her a bit by shock. She jerks back the slightest bit, surprised he would even ask her that, but she sees nothing but confusion in his eyes. _

_ “God, Ben. of course I was. I was so happy with you. I’m not ending this because I wasn’t happy. You made me so happy.” She buries her face in his neck, and his arms cup up around her, holding her tight to him. “We need to do this. You know it’s the right choice.” _

_ “I know you’re right,” he mumbles, into her hair. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”  _

_ She can feel her heart breaking already, as if they’re broken up, because this is the end, this is the final nail in the coffin.  _

_ How is it possible to hold someone in your arms and miss them all the same?  _

_ “I don’t know how to make it not suck.”  _

_ “It’s good it does.” They separate, just enough so she can look at him as he speaks. “The more it sucks, the more it means we were happy.”  _

_ She breaks then, letting the tears spill. “I’m sorry.”  _

_ “Don’t be.” He reaches up and wipes away the tears with his thumb. “I love you.”  _

_ “I love you. God, I’m so, so sorry. I love you.”  _

_ He kisses her then, and she clutches him tight, memorizes this, the last, last moment she will have his lips on hers. She files away a thousand things about him: he smells like sandalwood, his shirt is cotton, his hands are warm, shaky, he tastes like that disgusting spearmint gum he always chews, his hair is impossibly soft, and he holds her like she is the most precious thing in the world.  _

_ When they finally pull apart she steps back from him, worried if she stays in the circle of his arms, she will never leave.  _

_ “I’m sorry, Ben.”  _

_ He smiles sadly. “Me too, David.”  _

_ She looks at him one more time, committing the color of his eyes to memory. She doesn’t want to forget them, thinks she will not be able to breathe if she doesn’t remember them.  _

_ “I love you,” she says again. As if that alone can fix this.  _

_ (it’s not. sometimes, love just isn’t enough. she loves him so much. that’s why she’s letting them—letting him—go. this time, they have to give in)  _

_ “I’ll love you forever,” he promises.  _

_ (she tries not to think about how this will be the first promise to her he breaks) _

_ She steps back again, letting her hand fall from his. She thinks her heart falls from her chest, shattering.  _

_ “Goodbye, Ben.”  _

_ “Goodbye, Devi.”  _

_ She turns around and walks away, and it’s the hardest thing in the world to not look back. She doesn’t.  _

* * *

Devi hears her phone beep and ignores it, snuggling further into the couch. It’s probably Ben. 

She’s ignored 16 days worth of calls and texts from him, starting as soon as the day she had left. She—she knows she went back on what they said, went back on this not changing anything, but how was she supposed to know it was going to be like  _ that? _

(reverent, earth shattering, heartbreaking. she fell in love with him even more and he—) 

She resists the urge to toss her phone across the room and wraps her arms around herself. 

These past few weeks have been a mess. It’s even worse than when they broke up, because there’s no—there’s no reason here. There’s no justification, no certainty that she had done the right thing. There’s just pain. 

Devi chokes down a sob and tries to focus on Kendall and Kylie on the screen. 

Losing yourself in trashy reality TV was, apparently, a good way to get over heartbreak. It’s not been working for her. 

Well, she’s not getting over Ben. Seven years couldn’t do it. She highly doubts season 11 of  _ Keeping up with the Kardashians _ and straight avoidance was going to help. 

Devi sighs and buries her face further in her blankets, occasionally peeking at the screen. 

Just then, a knock sounds at the door. 

“Devi?”

She stiffens.  _ Fuck, _ why didn’t she move? 

“Devi, are you dead? I’m assuming so, because I can’t see any other reason you would have avoided me for two straight weeks, but I  _ really _ don’t want to be the one to call the police here and expose them to your horrendous decor, so I’d appreciate it if you could let me know? Maybe float out as a ghost, or something?” 

She tosses her blankets up over herself, as if that’ll offer some protection from him. 

He knocks again. “Devi, come on.” 

She groans, dragging herself up off the couch and tugging the blanket around her, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape.

Shuffling over to the door, she opens it to see Ben, staring at her. 

God’s truly laughing at her right now, because she’s dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, a fluffy blanket wrapped around her, hair in a messy bun, not a speck of makeup on, and he’s in a suit, as always, not a speck of dust on it, fountain pen in the breast pocket, tie perfectly knotted, eyes wide. 

Seriously, fuck you, God. 

She wrinkles her nose. “Why are you dressed like that?” 

“Maybe because it’s 5:30pm on a Tuesday?” he says. “I came straight from work.” 

“You look like a stock model for Calvin Klein,” she deadpans. 

He shoots her a wink. “So I’m as hot as Justin Bieber?” 

“Not even close. What are you doing here?” 

He waves his phone at her as he steps inside. “You haven’t responded to my calls or texts. For the past two weeks.” 

“I’ve been busy.” 

“Watching  _ Keeping up with the Kardashians?” _

“Hey, don’t disparage reality TV,” she says, stabbing her finger at him. She shuts the door and clutches the blankets tighter around herself, walking back over to her couch. “It’s practically Shakespearean, what, with the monologues and talking head interviews.” 

“Devi,” he says quietly. 

She turns to face him. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at her with the  _ exact _ same look in his eyes he had when they broke up. 

He shuffles on his feet nervously. “Did I do something?” 

“What?” 

“That—that night,” he says, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Did I make you uncomfortable, or something? Did I do something you didn’t want me to do? Because if—if I did, I’m sorry, that was never my intention and I—”

_ “What?” _ she shrieks, cutting him off. “What the fuck? No, no Ben, of course not!” 

“Then why did you run away?” 

She sighs, shoulders slumping as her death grip on the blanket loosens. “I didn’t run away because of you, Ben. I ran away because of me.” 

Devi sits down on the couch, pushing the blanket off as she looks down at her hands. “I just—I thought I could handle it, and I didn’t. So I ran. I’m sorry.” 

She looks up at him as she says this, but freezes at the look on his face. His eyes are wide with shock, staring at her. “Is that,” he rasps, “is that mine?” 

Devi feels her heart plummet as she looks down at herself. Oh,  _ fuck. _

She forgot. 

She’s wearing his hoodie—his stupid fucking Clippers hoodie that she found a few months back when she was packing up her old childhood room to take some of her photos and mementos back to New York with her. She couldn’t bear to throw it away, to get rid of it, and somehow she had lost all inhibitions and tossed it in with her clothes. 

Somehow, even after several washes, it still smells like him. It makes sense she would dig it out, wear it today. It’s all she’s wanted, to feel like he’s with her. 

“I—” she stammers. 

“I thought you gave all of them back.” 

“I thought I did too,” she confesses, standing up. She rubs her hands down the side of her legs, standing up. His eyes keep flickering down to the logo on the shirt and back up to her own, like he can’t quite believe she’s wearing it. “I found this a while back in my room. I didn’t even know I had it.” 

“Why—why are you wearing it?” His voice is strangled, and when her eyes flicker down to his hands, she notices them clenching, trembling. 

“Ben, I—” 

“Why are you wearing it?” he whispers. 

Devi closes her eyes, hands shaking as she plays with the strings on the hoodie. “I—I wanted you.” 

She opens her eyes just in time to see his face crumble. “Why would you want me? After—after what I did?” 

Confusion creeps onto her face. “What did you do, Ben?” 

“I broke your heart,” he whispers. “I hurt you, when I didn’t reach out.” He swallows dryly. “I can’t—I can’t tell you the amount of times I wanted to, Devi. God, I think I sat on my bed every night of freshman year deciding whether or not to call you.” 

(she did the same thing, wrapped up in this very same hoodie, opening their text thread and typing  _ hey, i still love you, i’m so sorry about what happened _ over and over again, aching for him, until she finally went home for the summer, tossed the hoodie in the back of her closet, and went out) 

“It was just too hard. To see you and not have you. It just was a lot easier to push you away.”

She swallows. “I did the same thing.” 

He laughs bitterly, rubbing at his temples with his hands. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you? I blame myself, too.” 

Her jaw drops open. “What? Ben, I don’t blame you.” 

Ben’s head shoots up. “What?” 

Devi shakes her head. “I don’t—I don’t blame you for what happened between us. I blame myself.” 

“You blame  _ yourself? _ Devi, what the hell could you have possibly done?” 

“I thought I might not have loved you enough,” she whispers.

“You loved me more than I deserved.” 

She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry for not reaching out. But Ben, you  _ can’t _ blame yourself. It’s not your fault. We both needed time to heal. We needed time away from each other.” 

“You’re right,” he sighs. “I just—I don’t get it. Why did you keep it?” 

Ben gestures to the hoodie, and Devi curls her hands into fists inside of the sleeves, wrapping her arms around herself. “I couldn’t let it go. I still can’t.” 

It’s the closest she’s come to admitting how she feels about him, how much she loves him. 

“What do you mean by that, Devi?” 

Her heart picks up, racing in her chest. She thinks it is pounding against her ribcage, the staccato song of his name over and over again. “Ben,” she pleads. 

“Tell me, Devi.” 

Her hands fall away from her body and she presses a fist to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob. 

“I’m still in love with you.” 

She expects a sad sigh, disgust, maybe, to be let down, so she’s shocked when he steps forward, hope flitting over his face. “Still?” 

“I never fell out of love with you,” she confesses. “I don’t think I have, ever since high school.” 

He reaches his hand out, palm up. 

She takes it. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” he says, thumb stroking the back of her hand. He looks up at her through his lashes, bright blue in the light of her apartment. “When I told you I would love you forever.” 

“You—you meant that?” she whispers. 

He nods. “I’m still in love with you, Devi. It’s always been you.” 

That’s all she needs, and then suddenly she is flying towards him, holding him tight to her in a way she hasn’t been able to do in seven years. She buries her face in his neck, the scent of sandalwood enveloping her, and when his arms come around her and band around her waist, pulling her even closer, crushing her against him, she thinks she might cry. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

She could stand here and hold him for all eternity, and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“I love you,” she murmurs back. 

She can’t bear to let him go, wants him here in her arms forever, but she needs to see his face, and so she pulls back, just barely, enough so she can look at his eyes. 

(and suddenly, she is 15, watching him laugh in her kitchen, she is 16, telling him she loves him, she is 17, dancing with him at prom, she is 18, waking up next to him. in his eyes she sees all of him, of them, who they used to be) 

There is a way to bring their past with them. So it does not weigh them down, but strengthens them. 

They can figure it out together. 

So she leans forward, kisses him, soft and sweet, takes her time remembering him. Takes her time filing away all the details of him into her brain, the way he breathes, the way his hands flit over the span of her back, like he can’t stop touching her, like he loves her. 

Because he  _ does. _

Devi smiles against his lips. 

He pulls back, gives her that smile, the same bright, broad smile he had deigned her with on the floor of a hotel room in Davis, in her kitchen, on prom night, on graduation day. 

“You were pining for seven years,” he teases, but he’s grinning too broadly to push any malice into it. 

She smirks. “So were you. You don’t have a leg to stand on.” 

“Doesn’t matter, David. I’m never letting you forget this.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

Whatever else he has to say is cut off when she presses her mouth against his again. For once, she doesn’t have to worry about this ending. 

She’s pretty sure they’re solid.

**Author's Note:**

> go follow [maggie](https://sarchengsev.tumblr.com) on tumblr! your comments and kudos make me happier than fabiola getting chicken fingernails. come talk to me about the show! you can find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


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